House of the Rising Sun
by Jander Panell
Summary: Welcome to the House of the Rising Sun, the most expensive brothel in the galaxy.  Here, fortunes are made, lives are ruined and...love blossoms? AU. SasoDei, OroKabu, KisaIta, OroIta, Pain/Konan
1. Deidara Gets In Trouble

**House of the Rising Sun**

_Welcome to the House of the Rising Sun, the most expensive brothel in the galaxy. Here, fortunes are made, lives are ruined and...love blossoms? _

Rating: M

Pairings: Sasori/Deidara, Orochimaru/Kabuto, Kisame/Itachi, Orochimaru/Itachi, Pain/Konan

Warnings: AU, prostitution, language, explicit sex, yaoi, noncon, dubcon, some May/December, possibly OOC-ness (never intentional or deliberate but from not knowing the canon as well as I should)

I...have no idea what possessed me to write this. This is the first ever Naruto fanfiction I've ever written, which is strange enough. I don't consider myself a Naruto fan. I'm only a casual reader, and there are vast swathes of the manga (mostly involving characters I'm uninterested in - i.e., Sasuke) that I haven't read at all. Nonetheless, there are some characters/battles/scenarios that I like. Those are the ones I will be focusing on, and the reason I wrote this story in the first place.

Thankfully, it's an AU, so I guess that explains away all canon inconsistencies.

Yes, the story (and the brothel) is named for the song "House of the Rising Sun," by the Animals (I think?) and covered about fifty times. Possibly I'm exaggerating, but not really.

* * *

_There is a house in New Orleans  
__They call the Rising Sun  
__Well it's been the ruin of many a poor boy  
__And God, I know I'm one_

_Well Mother, tell your children  
__Not to do what I have done  
__Or you'll spend your life in sin and misery  
__In the House of the Rising Sun_

_

* * *

_

I. Deidara Gets In Trouble

As evening dawned over half of the planet, the lights inside the House of the Rising Sun dimmed from a warm gold approximating late-afternoon sunlight into the duller orange of dusk. One of many small touches, along with a recorded nature sounds and window-viewscreens that displayed scenes of rolling hills and blue sky, that the space station used to approximate planetside conditions. The House administration had discovered long ago that most clients, despite being willing to travel all the way to the upper atmosphere for a night in the House, didn't like being reminded that they had left Earth at all.

Outside the station, a long queue of personal yachts - almost all unmarked - had formed in front of the main docking port. It was strange that there was a line at all, because the station practically bristled with docking ports - but of course most of them were reserved for none but the House's most devoted patrons. Those who were unwilling - or could not afford - to patron a courtesan were stuck using the plebeian main entrance. Every few minutes, another yacht would cruise languidly by and join the line. The House was open around the clock, but it received the most business during the evening shift, when businessmen finished work for the day and were free to take brief trips spaceside.

The line inched painfully forward. Each shiny yacht spent about ten minutes in the docking port, not because it took that long to align its docking clamps with the House's, but because the client had to be cleared by House security first. The House, concerned with reputation as it was, maintained an extensive blacklist. If a man was discovered to be a blacklisted client, he would be escorted away by the House's guard ships, and if he resisted, the guards would ask no questions - they would simply shoot.

And even if the client cleared security, his fate was not assured. If he couldn't provide the initial, nonrefundable payment for using the House's facilities, he would be turned away as well. Only the House could get away with such stringent entry requirements. Such was its reputation that thousands willingly endured the exorbitant prices, the long waits, the risk of being turned away, all for a night with a courtesan from the House of the Rising Sun.

Certainly, Gato thought it was worth it. All worth it. Thankfully, he had taken care to arrive early, when the line had just begun to form, so despite the fifteen-minute security check-in, he'd gotten in without excessive waiting. Then again, he had planned for this day for weeks. Now he strode through the House's spacious, richly carpeted halls, hands in his pockets and a confident smirk on his face. Gato was only newly rich, having just made his first million as an interstellar shipper and (on the side) smuggler. Like many of his class, he was anxious to prove his status - and among galactic bigwigs, the greatest proof of status came from regularly visiting Earth's most expensive brothel.

Gato, unfortunately, wasn't rich enough to become a regular patron, and certainly could not even dream of buying one of the House's highest tier of courtesans. But he had enough to spare to pay both the entry fee and buy a night with a middle-level courtesan. Middle-level for the House of the Rising Sun was, of course, equal to impossibly classy for a regular brothel, so Gato wasn't disappointed. His blood was already beginning to stir, making his expensive suit pants uncomfortably tight around the groin - although, perhaps, judicious usage of aphrodisiac pills had something to do with it.

Gato rounded a corner and entered a new hallway, one carpeted in blue. Heart pounding in anticipation, he strode towards the door at the end of the hall, labeled _302. _Just to make sure, he checked the card - the room key - he was clutching tightly in a sweaty palm, and saw that the numbers matched.

It was time. Time to enter the world of which he so longed to take part. His breathing deepening, he inserted the key in the slot beside the door, and it slid open without a sound.

Gato stepped inside.

All rooms in the House were personalized to best suit the courtesan who lived in it, so Gato didn't know what to expect. He found himself in a low-ceilinged, medium-sized chamber with a wood-finish floor. It was furnished simply, with a woven mat thrown on the floor and beige curtains around a viewport that revealed the cold black vista of space. But the room's most eye-catching feature were the shelves and work tables scattered throughout. Strange little sculptures - animals rendered in simplistic, almost abstract, detail - perched proudly atop the tables, while blocks of white clay were tucked under the shelves. The entire room smelled strongly of clay, making Gato's nose wrinkle.

A low, flat bed was pressed to the wall beneath the viewport, and reclining on the bed with his cheek resting on his palm was a boy. A boy with long blonde hair that pooled over his shoulders like a golden cataract and covered one of his eyes. The exposed eye was vibrant blue, a color that Gato had only ever seen in pictures of the sky in the countryside; a layer of dark eyeliner emphasized its elegantly slanted shape. The eye blinked, and the boy sat up in a smooth motion.

"You my first client tonight, old man?" he drawled in a surprisingly deep voice.

Hearing the voice killed a bit of Gato's libido, but not much. Still, he hadn't been expecting that! Gato had chosen the boy by his picture, one of dozens inside the catalog the attendants had offered him when he'd first arrived. He had a beautiful, suitably androgynous appearance; Gato had expected his voice to be equally as androgynous. It didn't matter, though. At the very least, he was here, in the House of the Rising Sun.

He stepped forward, grinning eagerly and trembling a bit in anticipation. "That's right."

"I'm Deidara," the boy said with a yawn, stretching his arms. "And I don't care who you are, old man. Hmm."

Gato was rather taken aback. He hadn't been expecting the courtesan to be so forward. And for his part, _he _didn't care what the boy was called, as long as he was a good fuck. "I don't need to know your name," he said with a growl. "Just hurry up and get on your knees already, I'm in a hurry."

He wasn't - he had paid for two hours tonight - but he thought that affecting the bored disdain of a man who knew what he was doing, who had visited the House many times before, would intimidate the boy into behaving properly.

"Suure you are, old man. All right, come here, hmm." Deidara patted the bed beside him.

Anger leapt in Gato's stomach, displacing even more of his already deflating libido "No," he declared, making a snap decision. "I'm not moving, kid. _You _come over here."

He swept his arm out to emphasize his words; unfortunately, there wasn't much room to maneuver in the cramped quarters and he ended up knocking one of the sculptures - a little bird - off the table. Deidara's eye narrowed.

"Watch it, hmm!" he shouted. "That's my art!"

"Art?" Gato scowled at the ugly little thing. "You call that art?"

"Yeah! What're you trying to say, hmm?" Deidara folded his arms, looking rather petulant. That annoyed Gato more He didn't want to argue with the kid; he wanted the kid to blow him.

"Doesn't matter," Gato growled. "Just come here, okay? Like I said, I'm in a hurry."

Deidara smirked as he stood up, smoothing down the front of his purple tunic. "We'll see about that, old man. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be begging to stay, hmm!"

Well, he was now trying to talk dirty, which was an improvement, Gato supposed. He didn't like the aggressive, domineering tone the boy was taking, though. He thought of ordering the kid to act more submissive, but all thoughts were dashed from his head when Deidara sank to his knees in front of Gato. He lowered his head, his copious hair cascading over his face, and sparks leapt anew in Gato's groin. Yeah, _this _was what he'd paid for..

Deidara reached for the zipper of Gato's pants. A shock surged down Gato's spine and he leapt back.

"What's your problem?" Deidara grumbled. "I thought you _wanted _this, hmm."

"Y...your hands. What's wrong with your hands?" Gato managed to gasp.

"Hmm? What're you talking about?" Deidara glanced down at his open palms, and the slits in them - the _mouths _- opened up, revealing teeth and and squirming tongues. Gato's stomach lurched. He was sure his erection had completely deflated by now. "Oh, these? Isn't it brilliant?" A loopy grin crossed the boy's face, marring his pretty features. "Paid a fortune to get this bodymod... It's out how I create my art, hmm!"

"Create...your...art?" Gato echoed, horrified.

"Right!" Deidara said, sounding more enthusiastic than he had all night. "Watch and learn, hmm!" Then, with a loud squelch, he plunged his hand into the nearest block of clay; when it emerged, he held a shapeless white lump in his palm. Then he closed his fingers, tightening his hand into a fist. Gato heard sick squirming noises, and when Deidara opened his hand, a little clay spider sat on it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "That's my art, hmm!"

"I...I don't give a shit about your art!'" Gato first stammered, then shouted, as he regained confidence. Dammit, he was Gato, head of an up-and-coming smuggling ring. He hadn't paid for a night with this kid just so he could discuss 'art.'

"Well, I figured, hmm," Deidara said with a shrug. "Most of you old folks don't get what it's about. Come to think of it, _nobody _gets what it's about! Except me, hmm!"

Gato was considering running back to the waiting room and choosing a different boy - but he'd already paid for Deidara. He had to make the most out of this situation..

"'Course, creating art isn't the only thing I use these for..." Deidara contemplated his free hand. When he looked back at Gato, a marked change had come over his expression: the corner of his mouth lifted in a gentler smile than before, an almost teasing one, and his eye fell half-closed. He looked..._sultry. _For the first time. Unconsciously, Gato stepped forward, his heartbeat quickening. Deidara's smile widened a fraction, and he held out his hand toward Gato, like a prince asking a princess for a dance

"Bet you wanna know what a handjob from me feels like, old man...hmm." The tip of the tongue flicked out of the hand-mouth. Gato unleashed a very faint groan.

Oh, he could imagine it. So well. That tongue brushing against his length while Deidara's fingers wrapped around it and pumped...and that mouth clamped at his head while Deidara's hand squeezed, sucking with careless abandon...

A little groan escaped Gato's lips. Who cared if the kid was insolent and made ugly art out of his hand-mouths. Right now, Gato was hard and the kid was there and offering himself so willingly...

"Hurry up," Gato said roughly, reaching for his fly.

"Hang on a second, hmm," Deidara said. "I haven't shown you my _true _art yet!"

_I don't give a damn about your art, _Gato wanted to say, but too late - grinning like a loon, Deidara hurled the clay spider into the air and snapped his fingers.

It exploded. With a thunderclap-like boom, the spider burst into fragments and unleashed a shower of sparks. Gato cried aloud and leapt backwards, throwing his arms in front of his face to protect himself, even as the last of the sparks dissolved.

"That single fleeting moment is when it _really _becomes art, hmm," Deidara declared, almost reverently. "When you get to witness that transient beauty, only for it to vanish completely as soon as you begin to appreciate it. 'Cause art is an explosion!"

"Y...you're crazy," gasped Gato, backing off until he felt his back press into the door. His erection had completely deflated. "What the hell is _wrong _with you?"

"Another one who doesn't understand, hmm," Deidara said with a sigh, folding his arms.

"No, I know what's wrong with you!" Anger animated Gato now, making him shake - he pointed an accusing finger directly at the nonplussed boy. "You don't fucking know how to do your job! Even though it's so damned easy! All you have to do is get on your knees and blow me like the two dollar whore you are!"

"What's that?" Deidara's eyes narrowed. "What'd you say, hmm?"

"That's it, take me to the manager," Gato said, removing the key card from the slot - the door slid open. "I want a full refund! This isn't what I asked for at all!"

"That's your fault for being so picky, old man! Come back here! I gotta make a living too, you know!" And before Gato could figure out what was going on, Deidara's arm shot out and snatched Gato by the suit lapel. His fingers tightened, black-painted nails digging into the material; Gato keened as Deidara leaned in close, an ominous expression on his face...

"Get away from me!" Gato squealed. "Help - ! Security, _security!"_

_

* * *

_

" - a disgrace, an absolute _disgrace! _This establishment is supposed to be the classiest in the galaxy? Like hell! Sir, your courtesan _attacked _me! _Attacked me!"_

"I wasn't fucking attacking you, hmm! It's your fault you were being picky!"

Pain, the manager of the House of the Rising Sun, sighed and rested his chin on steepled fingers. He was a tall man with spiky orange hair and multiple piercings, and many said attractive enough to be a courtesan himself. Nobody knew much about him, except that he almost never left the House, not even on official business. He sat behind a curving desk in his large, tastefully furnished office.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Gato," Pain said, cutting through both the client's and courtesan's rambles. They fell silent, perhaps recognizing his implicit authority. Certainly he appeared much more cool and composed than the shaking, red-faced Gato and Deidara, sitting on the floor with his arms bound behind his back and guards flanking him, aiming stun guns at him. "I assure you that the vast majority of my courtesans are nothing like...this one here." A glare at Deidara, which the boy returned with a scowl.

"Oh, yeah?" Gato cried, shaking a fist. "You could've warned me beforehand! I thought this was a respectable establishment!"

"Indeed, it is," Pain said evenly. "But sometimes...there are aberrations."

"Aberrations? As in _physical assault? _Because that's what this brat tried to do - "

"I wasn't assaulting you, hmm - ouch, stop that!" As the guards prodded Deidara with their guns.

" - your courtesans are supposed to be the best trained in the galaxy! What kind of well-trained courtesan _assaults _his client?" Gato continued ranting. "Goddammit, I saved up for months for _this?"_

Pain remained calm throughout Gato's rant, though he stole the occasional stern glance at Deidara. He said, "Like I said, Mr. Gato, I'm sorry. I certainly wasn't expecting this." He breathed in deeply and then said, more slowly, like the words were paining him, "I...will give you a full refund, if it helps. Including both the payment for your two hours with Deidara and your entrance fee."

"What! You can't do that, hmm!" Deidara shouted, but fell silent when the guards poked him again.

"Of course I can," Pain said, not looking at Deidara. "I'm the one who runs the House, after all."

"Well...well." Gato was still red-faced, but the mention of money - _a full refund! _- had pacified him greatly. When he spoke, he sounded more contemplative than anything. "Well...yes, I suppose that's acceptable."

"I don't often give full refunds," Pain continued. "So consider this a sign of how utterly ashamed I am. Truly, I am. You're right that the House of the Rising Sun prides itself on its respectability and reputation. Two things Deidara here tarnished for you tonight. If you are ever to return - and certainly, we wouldn't want to lose a valued customer like you - I will personally provide you a courtesan more to your liking."

"Well!" Gato's eyes widened - he had been caught with that. "I must say, you are a very generous man, Mr. Pain."

"It's merely business," Pain said with a shrug. "Now, Mr. Gato, if you'll return to the atrium, the receptionist will help with your refund. Have a good evening, and I hope you will return soon."

"Hmm...well, I'll think about it," Gato said, affecting gruffness, though it was clear from the gleam in his eyes that he was planning on doing just that. He turned around and the door slid shut after him, leaving Pain and Deidara alone in the room.

"You're as good at bullshitting as always, O Wise Leader," Deidara said with a smirk.

Pain's expression was impassive as always - but his eyebrows drew closer together. "That is the last time I will ever do that for you, Deidara."

"Well, good, 'cause you didn't need to, hmm!" Deidara shouted.

Pain stood and the desk parted in front of him, splitting in two and folding to the side to allow him passage. He stepped through. One step, then two, and then he was directly in front of Deidara. He seized the front of the startled boy's tunic and then, still dispassionate, still expressionless, backhanded him hard across the face.

"Ow! What the fuck!" Deidara shouted as Pain released him. He landed on his side, unable to sit up because his hands were still band.

Pain loomed over him, arms by his side, radiating cold disapproval - which was perhaps worse than outright fury. "Deidara, that is the third time in a month that a client has expressed dissatisfaction with your performance. And it's the first time a client has reported physical assault."

"I wasn't assaulting him, hmm," Deidara said, but his voice was much more wan than before.

"I've had you for less than a year. Every month, at the end of evaluations, you end up somewhere near the bottom. Customers constantly complain about your behavior. And most damningly, you've yet to secure a patron. You've been here a _year, _yet no patron. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Tch, it's not my fault!" Deidara grumbled. "None of those idiots can appreciate my art, hmm!"

"I suppose that you'd have a right to such feelings if you _were _an artist - "

"I am, hmm!"

"No, you're not," Pain said, very slowly and deliberately. "You are a courtesan in the House of the Rising Sun."

Deidara looked up at him, his visible eye wide, but then he turned away and pressed his lips tightly together, his brows furrowed. "Why can't I be both, hmm? You let Sasori - "

"Sasori is different," Pain said. "His clients - and _patrons, _I might add - actually appreciate his art."

"Yeah? Then find me some who appreciate _mine, _hmm!"

Pain shook his head. "Sasori obtains patrons because his art caters to a common fetish. I don't know anyone besides you who has an explosion fetish."

Deidara's mouth trembled. "It's not a fetish, hmm. It's my art."

"Indeed?" Pain raised an eyebrow. "If that's the case, that art will get you thrown out of the House."

"Hey! Wait, _what?" _Life seemed to flood back into Deidara; for the first time, he began to squirm and thrash, trying to either sit up or throw off his bindings. The guards rounded on him, but Pain waved them off. "What the hell! What're you talking about, hmm?"

"Deidara," Pain said. "Right now, you're the lowest earner in the House. Not only that, but you're actually _losing _me money. Anyone can tell it's bad business to keep you around."

"What?" cried Deidara, outraged. "You can't throw me out! Where the hell would I go, hmm? The House is my home!"

"Then _act _like it!" Pain shouted, showing emotion for the first time. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned around said, more calmly, "Judging by all your past behavior, I would say that you are trying your hardest to get thrown out of the House. You're impertinent, impudent, you don't care if you make money or not. If you truly cared about this place as a home, you would actually _try _as a courtesan."

"I do, hmm!" Deidara protested. "It's just that nobody else can appreciate it - "

"If nobody else can, then perhaps the problem isn't them - it's you."

Deidara said nothing. He just scowled and rolled to the other side, so he was facing away from Pain.

"...then...then what do I do?" When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more hesitant. "If I want to stay, I mean. Hmm."

Pain blinked. "If you're really so intent on staying, then...find and secure a patron within three months."

"What?" Deidara jerked at that, though he was still unable to sit up. "Three months? That's - "

"You said it yourself," Pain said. "You want to stay. If you want it that badly, then you will work for it. Do what practically every other courtesan here does, and do it well."

"But three months! How am I gonna find a guy who appreciates my art in three months, hmm?" Deidara demanded, now looking quite panicked.

"Then perhaps you shouldn't be so choosy," Pain said, walking away from Deidara. With a lazy wave of his hand, the desk reformed in front of him, once more blocking him from the courtesan squirming on the floor.

"Hey - !" Deidara shouted. "Now that's a low blow, hmm!"

"Guards," Pain said emotionlessly, "remove Deidara from my sight. Deidara, three months begins now."

"Hey, wait you can't - " Deidara cried but already the guards had hauled him to his feet and, still pointing their guns at him, dragged the protesting boy out of the room.

* * *

"What were you expecting?" Sasori demanded. "This was bound to happen, and you know it."

"I'm telling you, it's not my fault!" Deidara said, wringing his hands as he paced restless circles around the room. "So what if all those old fuddy duddies can't appreciate my art, hmm? That's _their _problem, not mine!"

"Now that I think about it," Sasori said, "Lord Pain probably did you a favor. At least now you've got impetus to obtain a patron."

"I only want a patron who understands art, hmm!"

"Deidara, it doesn't matter, does it?" Kabuto said smiling. "I mean, the kind of person your patron is. If you have a patron, you make more money and you get a bigger room. Isn't that something everybody wants?"

"Easy for you to say," Deidara shot back. "You're all over _Lord Orochimaru, _aren't you? Hmm!"

"Well..." Still smiling, Kabuto stared at his lap.

Deidara, Sasori, and Kabuto were sitting in the parlor of Sasori's expansive suite. As one of the House's highest-earning courtesans, with a record-breaking seven patrons, Sasori owned the largest quarters in the House. His suite contained four bedrooms with different themes, a bathroom, a parlor, a workroom, and a dungeon, and were located in the center of the station's largest module. Deidara had to admit he was a bit jealous of Sasori - it wasn't fair, after all, that the House's _other _artist was so much more successful than Deidara. Especially when Sasori's opinions on art were so damned wrong!

But he couldn't deny that Sasori had some pretty nice quarters. Especially a nice parlor, with a rich, elaborately designed carpet on the floor; paintings - genuine oil paintings in gilt frames, not prints - on the walls; and heavy dark wood furniture. Inside such a place, Deidara could truly believe he was in a grand manor instead of, well, the House of the Rising Sun. Sasori had let slip that he did not like the parlor much, but then again, if he had his way he would have designed _every _one of his rooms like his workroom, dungeon, and primary bedroom - dark and creepy and 'decorated' with dolls.

Deidara suppressed a shudder at that thought. And to think Sasori called that _art! _

_I bet that old guy wouldn't have complained about _my _art if he'd seen Sasori's, hmm! _he thought vindictively, though he remembered what Pain had said earlier about Sasori's art catering to fetishes, and that made him scowl. _Who cares, that just means Sasori's a sell-out!_

Kabuto, sitting in a velvet-draped armchair, had a reader on his lap and occasionally stole glances to the glowing panel. Sasori, lounging on the couch, was fiddling with an empty teacup. And Deidara was marching around the parlor, arms folded and ruminating over all the shit that had happened in the past hour.

"Anyway, obtaining a patron isn't too hard," Sasori said, glancing up at Deidara. He appeared young and delicate, with porcelain pale skin that contrasted sharply with his red hair, and wide brown eyes, but Deidara knew that under his loose, high-collared robe was an almost completely mechanical body. What a creep, turning himself into a robot in his pursuit of so-called 'eternal beauty.'

"Easy for you to say," Deidara snapped.

"Maybe you should listen to Sasori," Kabuto suggested. There was nothing ethereal or stunning about his looks, but he was attractive enough, with long silver hair tied into a ponytail and friendly dark eyes behind (rather dorky, in Deidara's opinion) round glasses. His plain button-down shirt and trousers accentuated his average appearance. "He's the one with seven patrons. If anyone knows how to obtain one, it's him."

"It's easy for you 'cause you're a sell-out, hmm!" Deidara shouted. "You don't care at all! You just do whatever they tell you to and that's - that's - "

"That's why I have a suite and why I make enough to take a week-long vacation to Xanadu every year," Sasori said.

"Arrgh! Go to hell!" Deidara had to resist the urge to tear at his hair. "But seriously! How can you live with yourself, hmm?"

"It's exactly as you said," Sasori said calmly, setting the teacup down. "I don't care. I don't care for a single one of those men. _They _became infatuated enough to send me lavish presents and pay increasing rates for the mere privilege of talking to me. All I did was play the perfect object of their fantasies. If they asked me to do something, I would do it - and then some. If they wanted to see my art I would show it to them, but that wasn't a requirement for getting them to stay."

"What kind of artist are you?" Deidara tried to demand, but it sounded more like a whine.

"Why do you think obtaining a patron is such a big deal, anyway?" Sasori said, conveniently ignoring Deidara's question. "A patron is just a client who comes more often than most and pays more."

"And is nicer to you," Kabuto added.

"Sometimes they believe they're in love with you," Sasori said. "That's troublesome."

"Well...yeah, troublesome." Kabuto nodded, but his grip on the reader tightened.

"_Love? _Well - " Deidara choked.

"Deidara," Sasori said, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you having so much trouble because you believe _you _have to be in love with the patron?"

"Err...what?" Deidara took a step back, though regretted it when his elbow bumped into the corner of the bookshelf. "What the hell are you babbling about? Of course not, I - "

He was well aware that his face had started burning, yet he couldn't will it to stop. He felt like an idiot, pressed up here against the wall with no defense against Sasori's half-scornful stare. _Damn that idiot, what does he know! _Suddenly he longed to punch Sasori in the nose, though he knew full well that wouldn't hurt the robot boy. Certainly not as much as Pain's backhand had hurt him earlier.

"You don't," Sasori said simply. "Or do some courtesans talk that way?"

"Yeah, they say shit like that all the time," Deidara said, jumping on the chance Sasori had offered him. "It's 'something special,' 'totally different when you're with a patron,' that kind of shit, hmm. And everyone's always showing off the gifts their patrons give..."

"They're wrong," Sasori said. Kabuto, for some strange reason ,had turned away, becoming suddenly immersed in the patterns on the wallpaper. "It's not different at all. Although - I suppose you have to be better at manipulating a patron than a client. Since you see him more often. You can ask him for gifts and benefits, provided you ask correctly."

"That doesn't work all of the time," Kabuto interjected quickly

Sasori threw him a sidelong glance. "Isn't that your problem for having Orochimaru as your patron? He was like that with me, too. I've never known anyone so selfish... But he never offered to patron me."

Deidara sighed. "Okay, thanks for the advice and everything, but it's not fucking helpful! So I should just bow and scrape and do whatever the hell the old skeev asks of me, hmm? Sorry, but no way I'm gonna do that! If I'm gonna be sleeping with the guy long term, then he'd better learn to accept me as I am, hmm! And _that _means understanding my art! And appreciating it!"

He pointed dramatically at Sasori with his last words, but Sasori just raised his eyebrows and turned away, rather ruining the effect.

"Deidara, that sounds unrealistic," Kabuto said with a thin smile.

Sasori didn't just smile, he laughed, an unpleasant little snicker. "Deidara, what you want isn't a patron."

"What the hell are you talking about? 'Course I do, you heard the leader guy, that's the only way I'll be staying here - "

"No," Sasori said, his light voice slicing through Deidara's ranting. He looked up and there was definite mirth shining in his half-closed eyes. "What you want is a relationship."

Deidara wanted to tell Sasori to fuck himself or go to hell, or better yet, do both. But the words were stuck in his throat and he was still burning and he was angry not just at the other two courtesans sitting there and regarding him with such blithe amusement (okay, he wasn't sure about Kabuto since Kabuto wasn't looking at him, but Kabuto hadn't come to his defense either), but at himself. For being an idiot It probably _was _as easy as Sasori had said. But that required pretending that the one thing that was most important to him _wasn't. _

He couldn't do it, even if it was in the service of the House of the Rising Sun. His home. He couldn't give up what made him _him._

"Going, I'm hungry," he announced, before turning around and stalking off, not sparing the other two a second glance.

"What's his problem?" Kabuto said after the door slid shut behind Deidara.

"You heard him," Sasori said, picking up the empty teacup again and spinning it in his hand. "He's hungry."

* * *

I didn't expect the chapter to be that long...hopefully it doesn't put off anyone.

There will be more shipping goodness in future chapters. In the meantime, if you want to see more, review! I love getting reviews. Lame as it sounds, every review makes my day. So don't be shy!


	2. Orochimaru Wants Itachi

**House of the Rising Sun**

_Welcome to the House of the Rising Sun, the most expensive brothel in the galaxy. Here, fortunes are made, lives are ruined and...love blossoms? _

Rating: M

Pairings: Sasori/Deidara, Orochimaru/Kabuto, Kisame/Itachi, Orochimaru/Itachi, Pain/Konan

Warnings: AU, prostitution, language, explicit sex, yaoi, noncon, dubcon, some May/December, possibly OOC-ness (never intentional or deliberate but from not knowing the canon as well as I should)

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! ^^ I'm glad people are reading this and liking this, because it's a pretty damn esoteric concept, yeah?

I'm making an effort to include more characters in this, although I'll admit some characterizations may be wonky because like I said earlier, I'm not all that invested in _Naruto _so I don't have a good handle on everyone's personalities. Just bear with me...as I write more, I'll definitely familiarize myself more with the characters and writing them will come more naturally.

* * *

II. Orochimaru Wants Itachi

It was midday - at least according to the House's internal schedule - when a sleek, unmarked black ship docked at one of the private ports protruding from the station's surface. The ship didn't have to wait in a line, nor did it have to suffer through the fifteen-minute clearing period; it simply docked in a single smooth motion, and seconds later, its airlock hissed open and a man stepped out into the House of the Rising Sun.

This docking port was the most privileged position, the one located closest to Pain's office. The man only had to round one corner before he reached his destination. The guards flanking the doors recognized him the instant he approached, and they graciously stepped aside and the door slid open for him.

He entered.

Pain, sitting behind his desk as always, glanced up when the man entered, though he already knew who to expect. Flatly with no emotion, he said, "Good afternoon, Orochimaru."

The corners of Orochimaru's mouth lifted in an oily smirk. He stood a respectful distance from Pain's desk, with his hands clasped behind his back. In everything - his deferent, yet subtly confident stance; his tastefully expensive high-collared black suit; the faint, grassy whiff of his cologne - he appeared the perfect patron of the House of the Rising Sun. So confident in his wealth that he didn't need to show it off, well-acquainted enough with the House's little quirks and customs to understand that Pain liked his personal space.

Orochimaru was indeed one of the House's most frequent and generous patrons, among the few who had the power and wealth to visit every day. He had amassed a fortune doing what he called 'venture capitalism and speculating,' but Pain doubted the precise legality of Orochimaru's methods. Not that it was his place to question a patron's background. Orochimaru could pay, so the House would welcome him with open arms.

Not to say that Pain didn't have an opinion on Orochimaru. He just didn't bother sharing it. Privately, he did not much like the older man. There was just something..._off-putting _about him. Maybe it was those narrow, slit-pupiled eyes that always held a faint covetous light, or the skin as pale and smooth as paper - the result of dozens of surgeries intended to keep him young. Orochimaru always reminded Pain of a snake, lying the grass and waiting to strike whenever a particularly interesting prey caught his fancy.

Not that Pain would ever reveal any of that in Orochimaru's presence. Or out of it, for that matter. His opinions on the House's patrons meant nothing. All that mattered was doing good business.

"Good afternoon," Orochimaru replied, his smile tightening. He remained perfectly still, but Pain could tell that he was impatient. And he had a sinking idea as to why...

"What may we do for you today?" Pain said, keeping his tone neutral and polite. "Are you going to see Kabuto again?"

Orochimaru's shoulder twitched slightly, but he didn't say anything. "Actually, I was wondering..."

"Wondering...?" Pain raised an eyebrow.

It was all a game, of course. Both knew what the other meant. Only the strictures of politeness kept them from saying it outright; neither wanted to appear vulgar, after all.

"Today, I was hoping for an...ahh...change of pace," Orochimaru said, his tone outwardly pleasant - but his eyes had narrowed and his expression had hardened a fraction. Pain wasn't intimidated, though; since he was on his home territory, he held all the power here. "I would like to see Itachi, if you don't mind."

Pain had expected this, so he already had a response prepared. "Unfortunately, Itachi's schedule is full today, and for the next two days as well, I might add - "

Orochimaru didn't appear flustered. "Is that so? Of course...but in this galaxy, nothing speaks louder than money. We both know that."

"What are you suggesting?" Pain said, though he already knew.

The tip of Orochimaru's tongue swept over his lower lip. Pain tried not to look. "Well, Lord Pain...I'm certain you would not object to another two million credits added to your account...provided you clear Itachi's schedule. In fact, I'll make it two and a half million if you clear it this instant, regardless of whether he is seeing anyone."

Pain blinked. Although he had expected such a maneuver, he had not been prepared for the sums involved. _2.5 million credits_... It was an appealing proposition, but...

"Unfortunately," he said with a half-regretful sigh, "I'm afraid I cannot do that. Itachi is currently engaged in business."

For the first time, Orochimaru's oily smile slipped. "Didn't you hear me? Remember, Lord Pain, two and a half million credits if you clear his schedule...you can even pay some of that to his current client if he doesn't take it well."

"No, you don't understand," Pain said, linking his fingers and gazing up at Orochimaru. "Itachi is not seeing a client right now."

"But you said - " Orochimaru began. Pain held up his hand, and, looking rather reluctant, the businessman fell silent.

"Itachi is with his patron," Pain said, with a tone of flat finality - and the slightest hint of triumph. Because he knew that with those words, he had won. Even a man as unscrupulous as Orochimaru would not challenge the House's most basic tenet: nothing was more sacrosanct than the relationship between patron and courtesan. There was more, after all, to a patron than just being a client who visited more frequently: he was the one who forked over astronomical sums for the chance of being a courtesan's steady companion, and in return the courtesan performed services for the patron that he would not for anyone else. Such a relationship, if it was to survive, had to be treated as different. Special. On a level above typical client-courtesan interactions.

And that if there was ever a conflict, the patron's needs always took precedence over the client's.

Orochimaru knew that, which was why, though a scowl flashed across his face, he didn't protest. Instead, he said, "Well...that's troublesome. Is there ever a time when Itachi is _not _with his patron? It seems every time I come..."

"That's not true," Pain said, although he was not about to admit that he had lied on some occasions. "It's simply that whenever Kisame comes, he always buys at least five hours. But he doesn't come every day. Perhaps, if you visit again tomorrow, you will have better luck obtaining a session with Itachi."

He blinked at Orochimaru, keeping his expression bland and perfectly innocent. Orochimaru's mouth twisted as if he had swallowed something sour, but when he spoke his voice was level, though layered with a slight hiss. "Very well. I suppose Kabuto will do for today. I would like to buy an hour with him tonight."

"Only an hour? That's rather brief," Pain said. "Aren't you his patron?"

Orochimaru's shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing. Casting Pain one last, faintly disgusted glance, he turned around and walked soundlessly out of the room. The door slid shut after him, but just before it did, Pain thought he caught Orochimaru grumbling, "Not by choice..."

Indeed, they both knew which courtesan, out of all the courtesans in the House of the Rising Sun, Orochimaru would pick if given a free choice. But he didn't have one - because Itachi already belonged to another. And Pain, for his part, did not want to disturb an arrangement that had so far worked remarkably well.

* * *

Itachi did not maintain very extensive quarters. Just a single large room partitioned into three sections by carefully placed screens, and an attached bathroom. The decor was tasteful and understated; just several low-lying lacquered tables and embroidered cushions scattered across the tatami floor. Nonetheless, if one looked carefully, the room was littered with signs of Itachi's true status: the scroll paintings on the walls and the delicately painted screens were genuine works of art from Earth's history, and - perhaps most tellingly - the plants growing in pots placed throughout the room were real, not molded plastic. Even though it was powerful and wealthy, the House was still a space station, and that meant economizing its resources to an extent. Certainly Pain found maintaining real greenery to be wasteful and expensive - soil took up valuable storage space, and the station already strained the limits of spaceside water usage with the luxurious baths the courtesans took.

But such restrictions didn't apply to Itachi. Certain perks came from being the House's highest earner.

To anyone who chanced to glance in (not that they could, since the doors were securely locked), the scene taking place must appear very strange indeed. After all, though Itachi was with his patron, they weren't rolling around in his bed fucking like bunnies. Indeed, Itachi had rolled up his futon and stored it behind a screen; he was sitting on his knees in front of one of the tables, gazing down into a steaming teacup. The table was set for tea for two, but only Itachi sat at it. His patron stood in front of the shelf on the other side of the room, disinterestedly examining the photographs lined up atop it.

Itachi took a slow, controlled sip from the teacup before setting it down. Looking at him, it wasn't hard to see why he had become the House's premier courtesan. He was lean and fine-boned, more elegant than beautiful, perhaps, with long black hair that gleamed dully in the room's low lights and contrasted sharply with his pale skin. The lines flanking his long nose made him look much older than his actual age, but also gave him a haughty quality.

He turned ever-so-slightly, his ponytail swinging, and onyx black eyes flickered towards his patron. "Are you finished?" he asked quietly.

"How interesting," Kisame said, putting down the picture he had been examining. "I've just noticed something. Your brother has to be at least sixteen now? Yet he's a kid in all of these pictures."

"I don't have any recent pictures," Itachi said, his low voice completely devoid of emotion. "You should know that."

"How sad," Kisame said with a slight hint of a laugh. "You poor estranged brothers..."

"It doesn't matter," Itachi said. "I'd prefer not to think about such...troublesome...things while I am on duty."

"Of course, of course." Kisame threw the framed photographs one last glance before turning around. "Conscientious as always, Itachi."

He appeared quite strange - freakish - even, with his impressive height, blue skin, gill slits, and small, round white eyes. As he took a seat across from Itachi, his mouth pulled up into a slight smile, revealing sharp, serrated teeth. His bizarre appearance didn't match at all with the unadorned trench coat he wore. Kisame was one of the few aliens who frequented the House of the Rising Sun; though the Federated Alliance was supposed to be an equal coalition among humans and the recently discovered alien races, humans mistrusted the strange new creatures with which they now had to interact (a mistrust that was reciprocated). As a consequence, they limited alien access to Earth. Only those aliens who could play by human rules - and amass wealth and power by human standards - were allowed to stay on the planet.

Kisame ran a semi-legal intelligence-gathering ring. That alone would make him a welcome customer at the House, regardless of species, but the fact that he had amassed a vast fortune through his operations cemented his place as a valued patron. Very few - even among Earth's wealthiest - could afford more than an hour with Itachi. Kisame regularly paid for five hours or more, and considered that sum a mere drop in the bucket.

Of course, to Kisame and Itachi, their relationship was much more than a mere business transaction.

Itachi didn't respond to Kisame's words; instead, he took another sip from the cup before setting it down with a gentle clink, and then slid his left arm out of his sleeve and rested it inside his loose, red-trimmed black robe. His every motion was careful, studied. He didn't feel the need to constantly act sultry and alluring, like so many lesser courtesans - he let his natural grace speak for itself.

At length, he said, "This tea...it has an interesting flavor. Sweet, yet sharp at the same time. With a citrusy aftertaste."

"I figured you would like it," Kisame said, looking satisfied. "The leaves come from a flower that only blossoms for a week on Xanadu's highest mountain. Adventurers have died and noblemen have killed for it."

"Hmm." Itachi glanced at the unassuming greenish liquid in the cup before turning his attention upon Kisame again. "Are you certain you don't want any yourself?"

"Now, Itachi, you should know that I don't like such things," Kisame said, leaning forward slightly and his smile widening. "I can never understand how you humans can stomach plants. Whether boiled or steamed or steeped or liquid, they're indigestible all the same."

A slight smile quirked across Itachi's face, but was gone as soon as it had appeared. "Nonetheless, you've become quite the connoisseur of rare teas and wines. And all for my sake...I suppose I should be touched."

"Well, there would be no point to these visits if I couldn't please you, would there?" Kisame said, almost teasingly. Despite his words, he made no attempt to touch Itachi, even though any other client would have already done more - and earlier, for that matter. If anything, the two seemed to be maintaining a deliberate distance, sitting up straight with the table dividing them. Perhaps their interactions might appear cold to any observer - but the whole point was that nobody was watching. Nobody was watching, and this was the way they liked it.

"I think you have our roles reversed," Itachi said.

Kisame's only reply was a dry laugh. Then, resting an elbow on the table, he leaned forward again, though not far enough to invade Itachi's personal space. "By the way, Itachi...while I was passing through Mars, I picked up a tidbit that might...interest you."

"Interest me?" Itachi's eyebrows lifted, ever-so-slightly. "In a good or bad way?"

Kisame drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "In an...interesting way. Namely, two weeks ago, one of my Martian contacts caught a glimpse of a ship that, according to him, matches the description of the one that you're interested in. Take this intel however you wish."

Itachi said nothing, though his eyebrows drew closer together. He picked up the teacup again and took another, more mechanical, sip from it. "I see."

Kisame watched him for several long moments, as if waiting for Itachi to say more, but when the courtesan didn't - just continued sipping his tea - the shark-man spoke again. Notably, his voice, previously sardonic, softened. "The medicine I gave you last time...has it had any effect?"

"I suppose." Itachi jerked his shoulder in a shrug. Kisame frowned.

"It hasn't, has it?"

"I'm fine. I haven't suffered another attack since that time - "

"Itachi, three days without an attack isn't a particularly inspiring record," Kisame said somewhat sternly.

"It doesn't matter," Itachi said with a careless wave of his hand. "Lord Pain won't allow anything terrible to happen to me. I'm worth too much to him. If anything does happen, his medics will take care of it."

"Those medics are treating the symptoms, not the cause. Itachi, what you need is a hospital. I would have no problems paying for an extended stay at the galaxy's best," Kisame went on. His expression betrayed no emotion, but his voice had become tighter, more strained. He never once removed his eyes from the courtesan's face, but Itachi didn't return his gaze.

"That will not be necessary," he said with no emotion.

"Are you afraid Lord Pain will not allow you?" Kisame said. "He is a logical man. He must understand that he will only profit more if you're healthy and whole."

"It's not that," Itachi said, his eyes sliding half-shut, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. "But he's a businessman first and foremost."

"What does that mean?" Kisame demanded.

Itachi didn't reply - but at that moment, the tiny comm unit that he wore nestled in his ear - like every employee at the House - issued a faint beep. "_Itachi, come in," _Pain's voice crackled through it.

With a deft maneuver of his fingers, Itachi switched the comm to speaker mode, so that Kisame could hear everything Pain said. He didn't need to be prompted, didn't care if Pain was going to discuss secret House issues; that was how much he implicitly trusted his patron. "I'm here, Lord Pain," he said. "What is it?"

Pain's voice was as clipped and emotionless as always. _"I wanted to inform you that I have just cleared your schedule for the next two days."_

"Excuse me?" Itachi said, blinking slowly - but other than that, he registered no shock. Kisame shifted, but didn't say anything. "May I ask why?"

_"Someone wishes to see you, and soon."_

Itachi and Kisame exchanged a glance, both already suspecting who it was, but one could never be too certain.

"The clients who've been removed won't be happy," Itachi noted. "They have paid quite a large amount..."

"_I can reimburse them. Besides, the man who wants to see you tomorrow can pay much more than the rest of them combined."_

"I see," Itachi said, slowly and calmly. "Well, Lord Pain, does Orochimaru have any more requests of me?"

A brief silence, and then Pain said, "_No. Forgive me for disturbing you. Pain out."_

The comm unit clicked, and the line went dead. Itachi looked back at Kisame, who was now grinning with clear malice.

"Orochimaru, eh?" he said. "What an utterly classless tactic...though I shouldn't have expected better from him."

"Two days?" Itachi said, rubbing his chin. "Does he want to see me twice in a row? What a greedy man."

The smirk slid off of Kisame's face, to be replaced by a near-perturbed expression. Perhaps unconsciously, he shuffled forward, closer to Itachi. "Itachi - " he began.

Itachi, surprising both of them, reached out and placed his hand atop of Kisame's. His long, slender fingers, tipped with lavender-painted nails, contrasted sharply with Kisame's much larger and thicker fingers. Kisame blinked, but Itachi gazed steadily in his eyes, his head held high and proud. He had never looked more haughty, less like a mere courtesan.

"I'll be fine," Itachi said calmly. "It's only Orochimaru. I can deal with him."

"Of course," Kisame said. "I don't doubt you, but..."

"Don't worry," Itachi continued, still in that calm, composed tone. "As long as Lord Pain is in charge of the House of the Rising Sun, Orochimaru will not become my patron."

He squeezed Kisame's hand, lightly, before drawing his hand away and tucking it back inside his robe. Kisame opened his mouth, about to say anything, but before he could, Itachi unfolded from the floor in a single smooth motion, his robe swishing around him, and started walking towards one of the other partitions of his room. Kisame understood Itachi's unspoken message, so didn't protest as he also stood and followed the courtesan behind the screen.

"I take it you have time for a game or two?" Itachi said, sitting at the chessboard-topped table dominating this partition and intently setting up pieces.

Kisame smiled, revealing the tips of his sharp teeth. "Itachi, I have all the time in the world."

* * *

"This is so disgusting! Hmm! I've never eaten anything so awful in my life!" Deidara grumbled through mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.

"You say that," sighed Sasori, "but you keep shoveling it down...someone's sending mixed messages."

"Shut up! Hmm!" Deidara shouted before swallowing a forkful of the fluffy white substance. In all honesty, it could not be called 'mashed potatoes' per se: more like a flavored chemical substance reconstituted from a package. The House of the Rising Sun might maintain an extensive wine cellar and a special banquet room for clients who wanted to take their courtesans on 'dinner dates,' but the courtesans themselves had to eat typical spaceside food - flavorless hydroponically grown vegetables, freeze-dried package meals, and instant noodles. Lots and lots of instant noodles.

Half of Deidara's plate was covered with instant pad thai, while the other half was covered with mashed potatoes and a reconstituted brown lump masquerading as steak. Between ravenous bites he took long swigs from a can of fluorescent green energy drink.

Deidara, Sasori and Kabuto were sitting in the canteen, one of the few places in the House that betrayed its space station nature. The wide white room, with flickering light-panels and pipes snaking across the rooms, appeared altogether dreary and utilitarian. It was hard to imagine that this was the same House that held such splendors as Sasori's parlor. The three courtesans had occupied a place at the end of one of long white tables dominating the room. It was about 1600 hours, according to the House's schedule; the busy hours, from evening to morning, had yet to begin. Many courtesans were using their free time to gather in the canteen, filling their stomachs and socializing before they had to go to work.

"Really, Deidara, if you think it's so awful," Kabuto said ,looking up from his bowl of instant ramen, "you don't have to eat here. Just convince your first client tonight to take you to the banquet hall or order room service."

"Like hell I am, hmm!" Deidara shouted after he'd swallowed his last mouthful of gluey mashed potatoes. "I hate eating with those old fogeys! They always take forever to chew and they order disgusting crap! Like boiled goose, why the hell do old folks like that shit so much, hmm? Plus they _always _ask if these mouths - " He waved his hands around " - can eat too! No, they can't, okay? Matter settled! _Hmm!"_

"Deidara, that attitude is precisely why you'll never get a patron," Sasori said. Unlike Deidara and Kabuto, he wasn't eating - after all, the robot boy didn't need any sustenance.

Deidara threw Sasori a glower. "Stop rubbing it in, hmm!"

"I'm not," Sasori said, shrugging. "I'm just pointing out facts."

"That's right," Kabuto said most unhelpfully.

"I don't think I'm gonna find a patron tonight, okay? It wont happen instantly, hmm!" Deidara protested.

"Especially since you want a client to love you and your art," Sasori said with a snicker.

"Hey, hey, Deidara, stop that!" Kabuto cried as Deidara, seeing red, leapt to his feet and swung his fork at Sasori. The older courtesan, his half-lidded gaze still perfectly blank, lifted his arm to block the blow, and the plastic fork snapped in half when it impacted Sasori's robot arm.

"Aww, _fuck!" _Deidara screamed.

"Your fault," Sasori said.

"You sure got a dirty mouth tonight, Miss Deidara!" called an unfortunately familiar brash voice. Deidara whipped around, growling, though he already knew what he'd see. Sure enough, a smirking Hidan was approaching. Strongly built and confident, with slicked-back silver hair, he was a different sort of courtesan altogether from the more delicate Deidara (and for that matter, Deidara's friends). No client paid for the chance to dominate Hidan; instead they paid for Hidan to dominate _them, _which he did with relish. Hidan certainly was prepared for work today, dressed in a tight black leather police uniform and carrying a riding crop.

"Dirty mouth? That's some hypocrisy coming from you, hmm!" Deidara shouted, flipping Hidan the bird.

"You on your period?" Hidan said as he - much to Deidara's annoyance - took a seat across from him.

"I'm not a fucking girl, hmm!" Deidara shouted even though he knew he was just giving Hidan what he wanted.

"Just sit down, you're making a scene," grumbled Sasori, tugging on the edge of Deidara's tunic; Deidara rounded on the redhead, pissed, but then Sasori pointed and Deidara, despite himself, followed the direction of the point and saw that indeed, almost every other courtesan in the packed canteen was staring in his direction.

_Great! No way this isn't gonna make it back to Pain somehow... _Deidara thought, face burning. Dammit, usually he didn't mind his impulsiveness - that was what made great art, after all - but Pain would no doubt use it as another reason to kick Deidara out of the House. Scowling, he flopped back down in his seat resisting his urge to slide off the bench and hide under the table. That'd just make people stare harder.

"Sheesh, what's _your _problem?" Hidan said.

"What do you think, dumbass? Showing up and calling a man a _girl _- " Deidara began

"What are you doing here, Hidan?" Kabuto asked, his polite query cutting through Deidara's rant. "You're already suited up...isn't your patron arriving soon?"

"That asshole? Nahh, he got delayed on 'business' or some shit, or so I've heard, so now I've got a lot of time to kill before he comes," Hidan said.

Deidara couldn't resist an opportunity to get Hidan back for that 'period' comment. "Too bad for you, hmm? If I were you I'd be rejoicing. Who'd want a weirdo like Kakuzu as their patron anyway, hmm?"

"Deidara, don't be so rude," Kabuto hissed, while Sasori actually buried his face behind his palm. Hidan, however, didn't appear perturbed, much to Deidara's annoyance. If anything, he just broke out in a huge, and _shit-eating, _grin. Deidara sat up straighter, not liking the look of things at all.

"Says the little bitch who can't find a patron to save his life," Hidan said, tapping his riding crop against his palm.

Deidara opened his mouth to make a retort - but was cut off by Kabuto tapping his shoulder and gasping, "_Look!"_

Deidara didnt' want to look - probably Kabuto had sighted that creep Orochimaru or something - but he noticed that Sasori was staring in the same direction as Kabuto, and - even more confusingly - Hidan was too. In fact, as Deidara glanced around, he realized that every single courtesan present was staring at the same thing: the canteen entrance.

No, not the canteen entrance, but the young man standing inside it.

A delicate build, black hair, ivory skin. Arm tucked inside a black and red robe. Sharp, cutting dark eyes.

Itachi, the House's premier courtesan.

"What's he doing here?" Sasori said in a low hiss. "He _never _comes down here if he can help it..."

True, he didn't. Itachi had gained quite a reputation for being aloof and refined, on a higher level from the other courtesans - and that was saying a lot, since by definition, all Rising Sun courtesans were several cuts above the classiest courtesans elsewhere. Itachi almost never left his quarters, almost never interacted with his fellows - if he even considered them fellows in the first place. Deidara thought Itachi seemed like the arrogant type, who believed that since he was so much better than everyone else, he didn't even have to acknowledge their existence.

A flurry of whispers had risen, growing louder as Itachi slowly entered the canteen. His ponytail stirred with each light step, and he kept his disinterested gaze directly ahead, not focusing on anyone or anything. He swept past a group of courtesans who'd been chatting near the door, as quietly as if they didn't exist, and they, unnerved, shuffled aside.

_Tch, don't act like he's a fucking god, _Deidara thought in disgust. He tried to pretend that he, unlike everyone else in the canteen, couldn't care less about Itachi's sudden apparition, instead focusing on draining the last dregs of the energy drink from the can, but he couldn't deny that his gaze kept returning to Itachi. Not because he was actually interested, dammit, but because, well, he was just curious. After all, when was the last time he'd seen Itachi in person? Maybe a glimpse from afar when a client was eating with him in the banquet hall, but that didn't really count, did it?

Itachi stopped in front of the table that served as the canteen's condiment station, filled with ketchup, mustard, and relish dispensers and boxes of salt and sugar packets. Still expressionless, he dipped his hand into the salt box and sifted the tiny white packets through long, elegant fingers before finally picking out one, holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger like he thought it would explode.

_Bet that idiot's never seen salt that comes in packets before, 'cause that's way too plebeian for him, _Deidara thought, but his eyes independent of his will followed Itachi's graceful movements. He wasn't _alluring, _really, but...there was something more about him. A quiet ease to his every motion that did not demand so much as ask for attention. The way he readjusted his robe, as it had fallen open a bit, baring a line of unmarked pale skin...the way he shook his head to clear a stray strand of hair from his eyes...the way he cast one last, haughty glance around the canteen before stepping out of the door...

Goddammit, all he'd done was get a packet of salt, yet from the way that everyone was staring, it was as if Zeus had appeared and started hurling thunderbolts. Deidara found himself blinking, wondering if he hadn't imagined the entire episode, but no - the rising tide of whispers around him, where the words "Itachi" and "amazing" kept on reoccurring, suggested that others had witnessed the same thing.

So this was a true courtesan of the House of the Rising Sun. Cool composure, careful elegance, and a sheer force of presence that could turn all heads in a room of fellow courtesans. Deidara found himself beginning to understand why so many clients desired Itachi...

And it just made him mad. It wasn't fair, dammit. Someone like Itachi - so apathetic and standoffish - shouldn't be so damned popular! Shouldn't be so damned _perfect! _It wasn't right. True beauty was brief, impulsive, passionate, violent - all things Itachi weren't.

So why did everyone find Itachi so impressive, instead of a real artist like Deidara? Why the hell did _Deidara _find Itachi so damned impressive?

His grip tightened around the now-drained can, and much to his surprise he heard a crunch; he'd ended up crushing the aluminum. Sasori and Kabuto threw him odd looks. Across the table, Hidan grinned.

"PMS getting to you, huh?"

* * *

It seems a tradition now to end each chapter with a funny line.

Sigh...this chapter was such a pain to bash out, not at all like the first chapter which just wrote itself. I blame it on the KisaIta scene (and a little bit on Hidan at the end, but whatever). I had a hard time writing both characters and a doubly hard time writing their interactions, despite liking them quite a deal. I feel ashamed... u.u But whatever, I really wrote this chapter for the canteen scene at the end. I wonder if anyone caught the "boiled goose" reference...?

Anyway, thank you for all your reviews so far, and please review some more! I really love hearing from readers. ^^


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